


Always; anytime, any place.

by bioloyg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bucky and Sam are always gone on each other, Bucky is also bad at reading situations with matters of the heart involved, Bucky is bad at art, Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt Sam, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Misunderstandings, Photographer Sam, Sam has scars, THIS IS A SERIES OF FICLETS not all one work lmfao, Winter Falcon, idk - Freeform, uhhh I'll tag more stuff later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets from tumblr that I'm uploading to share here. Each chapter represents a different prompt that was taken and each chapter title is said prompt.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey, hey!  
> As some of you know, this work is a collection of ficlets from my [side blog](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com) on tumblr. I took a bunch of prompts from [this list](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/post/149621333610/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you) and this is the result!
> 
> Follow my side blog for more updates on what I'm writing and when I'm posting things (or to scream about sambucky/samsteve), and come say hi to me on my [main blog](http://bioloyg.tumblr.com)!

Bucky works his jaw from side to side and looks away. Coming to this banquet, ball, benefit, _whatever_ was a mistake. Especially because of the way he feels about Sam. Forget the image of Samuel T. Wilson in a tailored suit that looks like it was made for a god. Forget his bright smile and how god damn charismatic he is.

None of that is the problem. Well it is, but it’s not _the_ problem. Bucky’s real problem is the gnawing itch under his skin whenever someone not so secretly places their hand just a little too low on Sam’s back. How someone will walk by and let their gaze linger for a space of time too long to be casual.

Bucky can _see_ them undressing Sam with their eyes, and part of him gets it, really. But to them Sam is nothing more than a pretty face with some seriously dangerous cheekbones. They don’t know that Sam used to work at the VA with soldiers that had PTSD. They don’t know that _Sam_ has PTSD, and they probably don’t care.

How could they?

Not a single one of them has made an effort to ask Sam a question that delves deeper than what he’s wearing or what he’s at this benefit ball for. The whole thing is making Bucky’s skin crawl and his blood **boil.** And what’s worse is that he can’t say a damn thing. Because Sam isn’t his. Sam is his own person, and he’s more than likely not interested in dating the man that nearly ruined his life.

So, when Bucky gets his bearings about himself, he looks back at Sam and plasters his best fake smile on his face before saying, “Not at all.” And he’s _not._

He has no reason to be jealous of the people hitting on Sam because they mean nothing. Except maybe that tall, muscled dude with the green eyes. Sam looked a little interested in him. But that’s beside the point. Bucky is in no position to be jealous. If anything he’s just… upset.

Sam, being as perceptive as he is, doesn’t seem to buy it. What he doesn’t do, however, is push it. He only says, “If you say so.”

“I do,” Bucky replies evenly. “And now I’m gonna go get a champagne flute and find Steve.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Have fun, but Steve already left with Sharon.”

“Great,” Bucky breathes out, moody again. He walks away regardless in search of a glass of champagne to drown his irritations in. Of course no sooner does he find a place to sit and people watch, a well manicured man with salt and pepper hair goes up to Sam.

Did he say people watching? Really he meant trying and failing to look anywhere but at Sam.

Bucky doesn’t even realize how hard he’s got his hand wrapped around his glass until the stem breaks. Two people in his immediate vicinity turn, and to save face he says, “Arm malfunction. Sometimes it tenses when it’s not supposed to.”

Which is complete and total bullshit because the arm T’Challa designed for him hasn’t had a single problem and never will. He barely even has to have it oiled or maintained because it’s a polymerized metal. Hasn’t rusted in a single spot once.

They don’t need to know that though.

Bucky sheepishly hands the evidence of his fit to a passing waiter and excuses himself from the area. He finds a nice open balcony and takes a deep breath as soon as he’s outside. A few people are mingling, chatting amongst friends, but it’s far less crowded than inside. It’s still a _little_ _bit_ stuffy though, so Bucky removes his tailored coat and hangs it over the side of the balcony’s railing.

He’s lost in thought, staring at the pool below, when someone comes up to stand beside him. “That’s a really nice shirt you have on. Looks like it’s made from something high quality. Is that boyfriend material?”

Bucky lets out a dry laugh and rolls his eyes. The man he sees when he turns isn’t half bad looking. He’s got warm brown eyes, tan skin, and loose curls atop an undercut that’s got intricately styled lines and edges.

“I didn’t think pick up lines could get any worse than they were in the 1900′s,” Bucky says with a smirk.

“Is that not doing it for you?” The man asks, faux-serious. “I can always try another, maybe something a little more vulgar. That’s usually more typical for the 21st century.”

Bucky’s shakes his head and turns back toward the pool below, mildly amused by the display before him. He’s not interested, but the guy has an admirable sense of humor. “I think being straightforward is the _real_ thing this century.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Bucky’s would be suitor says as he comes closer. “You want straightforward, huh?”

With a shrug, Bucky tiredly says, “Whatever you think you can manage.”

That earns Bucky a rather predatory smile. “I think it’s more about what _you_ can manage.”

That’s about Bucky’s limit. He appreciates forwardness, but from people he’s attracted to, which isn’t really this guy. Maybe in another lifetime, but in this one, Bucky is already a little lovesick. He’s just about to give a tailored version of that truth when a hand snakes around his waist.

Bucky stands up, unintentionally fitting right against whoever it is that put their arm around him. He turns, but before he can say anything, Sam looks at him and says, “Hey, babe. I’ve been looking for you all over.”

There’s a space in time where a lot of things slot in and out of their rightful places for Bucky, but when he catches up, he says, “Sorry. Needed some fresh air.” When the not so suave suitor looks away Bucky mouths, _what are you doing?_

“I didn’t realize you were with someone. Sorry.” The man rubs the back of his head with his hand.

“No hard feelings,” Sam says, though his tone is a little more tight than usual and his eyes are narrowed ever so slightly.

Once the man leaves completely Bucky says, “Uh, what was that?”

Sam slowly slides his hand across Bucky’s back as he pulls away. He clears his throat before he answers. “You looked uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s eyebrows fall as he scrunches them together in thought. Not only was Sam somewhere in the middle of the ballroom last Bucky saw him, but Bucky had his back turned to the entrance of the balcony. Which means…

“How could you tell? I wasn’t anywhere you could see my face. Were you watching me?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “ _No_. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh. “What happened with salt and pepper doctor man?”

Sam’s eyebrows rise. “Were you watching _me_?”

Bucky makes a disagreeable noise in the back of his throat. “You wish, bird boy.”

“Oh my god, you _were_ weren’t you?”

Bucky clenches his teeth together and lets a sharp breath out of his nose. “You’re one to talk. You came out here to babysit me.”

Sam purses his lips together, something he usually does when he’s getting impatient. “I came out here because I was tired of being hit on, and I was bored because you left me.”

“I didn’t _leave_ you. You make it sound like we came together.”

“We _did_ come together.”

Bucky shakes his head and turns around to face the pool, muttering, “Not like _that_.”

“Am I missing something?” Sam wonders, though his tone has a healthy dose of irritation laced in it.

“ _No_.”

Sam leans back against the railing. He’s a little bit more mindful of his tone when he asks, “Did I misread what was going on between you and that guy?”

Bucky looks at Sam out of the corner of his eye for a moment. After a lengthy pause he says. “No. I’m not interested in _him_.”

Sam’s tilts his head slightly then. “You say that like there’s someone else.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bucky says loftily.

Sam snorts. “Who is she?”

“And _that_ is where you’re wrong.” Bucky pushes himself from the railing. “Never said it was a girl.”

“Oh,” Sam says, though he doesn’t sound surprised at all. “Then who?”

Bucky levels Sam with a look before he grabs his coat and says, “I’m going inside.”

Sam lets out a childish groan. “Fine, I’ll stop asking. Don’t leave me out here alone. Less people talk to me when you’re around, they all think you’re my boyfriend. I’ve had at least three women tell me how ‘lucky’ I am to have snagged you.”

“I wish,” Bucky mutters.

He recognizes his mistake as soon as Sam says, “What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says hastily. He makes it two steps before Sam grabs his hand.

“Now I think I _am_ missing something.”

Bucky turns back with a scowl in place. “Maybe you are; it’s not my job to fill you in.”

Sam’s gaze sharpens. “Well maybe if you _did_ you’d figure out you’re not as far off base as you seem to think.”

Everything gets a little quiet then. Bucky’s chest feels tight and his heart is beating just shy of too fast. He didn’t have this problem when he was The Winter Soldier. He almost wishes he could invoke that kind of emotional indifference now, but his heart is leaning in too far, trying to bask in the light of the hope that’s out there in between him and Sam.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Maybe you’re misinterpreting how I feel.”

“I think you’re the only one who’s misinterpreting this, Bucky.”

“Tss. Sure.”

Sam tugs until Bucky comes back the two steps and says, “I asked you to come to the benefit with me. We get coffee every week…”

“Kinda need you to spell it out, Sam.”

“Why don’t _you._ You’re the one that caught an attitude.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “ _Fine_. I hate seeing other people hit on you, because you deserve better than someone who only likes you because of the way you look.”

“Who’s better for me, then?” Sam asks, quiet but serious. “If it’s not them, then who?”

“Don’t ask it that way, because it’s not me. I’m not better for you, Sam,” Bucky laughs. “I just like you for different reasons.”

“You don’t think that’s enough?” Sam asks.

“How could it be?” Bucky pulls his hand from Sam’s hold. “You’re _you_ and I’m the guy that upended your life for five years.”

Sam’s face darkens then. “And it was my damn choice, Bucky. I knew exactly what would happen when I sided with Steve. I _knew_ it would be ugly. That boy holds grudges and when he sinks his teeth into something he doesn’t let go. But I knew it was the right thing to do. You deserved a fair fight, and so did everyone else.” He looks away then, a frown heavily set on his face. “No offense, but you’re not as special as you think. You’re not the only reason my life is fucked up, and even if you were, we’re past that point. It’s kinda half the reason we’re at this benefit - in case you forgot.”

Bucky stands still, held in place by the weight of his guilt and shock alone. “I’m s-”

“ _Don’t,_ “ Sam says, though it’s gentle.

“How do you know what I was gonna say, you didn’t even let me finish.”

“I know-”

“No you don’t,” Bucky interrupts. “Yeah, see, how’s it feel?”

Bucky laughs, short and low, and drops his coat on the floor so he can pull Sam in. As soon as they’re within range of each other, Bucky slots their mouths together for a brief but firm kiss. “I was going to say, ‘I’m so gone on you, Sam.’”

“You absolute liar,” Sam says, a little breathless. His eyes have gone soft around the edges.

Bucky smiles into their next kiss.


	2. "The paint is supposed to go WHERE?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments btw. I love hearing from you guys<3
> 
> unbeta'd as per usual (they're just ficlets it's not that deep).

Steve frowns and holds out the hand with the paintbrush in a placating manner. “It’s body paint, Bucky. It goes on your body. Your pecs _are_  part of your body, right?”

Bucky glares a hole through Steve - or tries at least. “ _Yes_. But that’s not the part I’m worried about smart ass. It’s the paint on my _ass cheeks_.”

“You’re the one that signed up for [the photoshoot](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.alexameade.com%2F&t=MDliODM2MTk0ZDJkY2YwYThlMzBlZWRkN2ViZWQ1NDgwZGNhNjBjNSx0M3lkMlRZdw%3D%3D).”

After a heavy sigh Bucky says, “Because I need extra credit for art, not because I actually _wanted to_.”

“Maybe you should try harder in class,” Steve says with a smirk.

Bucky bats the brush out of Steve’s hand and gets an unhealthy amount of satisfaction from the way the paint splatters on the plastic tarp lining the floor. “Not all of us can breeze through fine arts courses like you Picasso.”

Steve shrugs and picks up the paint brush. “Well,” he says as he flicks the paint brush, getting paint all over Bucky’s face in what he plays off as an accident. “Good thing this teacher offers extra credit, huh?”

“I guess,” Bucky grumbles as he wipes paint from his face with the back of his right hand. “Just - paint my ass and get this over with, I don’t want that weird handsy brunette to come back.”

Steve lets out a muted laugh and follows the instructions of the _yet to be seen_  photographer. Bucky is participating in a multimedia piece that was succinctly described as a human painting project. Right now he only needs a light blue base coat, which Steve is providing because the assistant with the beady hazel eyes who was _supposed_  to do it gave Bucky the heebie jeebies.

Other than that, Bucky’s not sure what the hell is going to happen, but when he sees the photographer he takes back a small portion of the nasty things he said in his head. He still thinks it’s stupid to have half of his body painted and half left alone, and he’s not 100% comfortable with being photographed nude, but he’s willing to set his feelings aside if it means he gets to hang out with Cheekbones™ over there.

Bucky is so lost in thought staring at the photographer in what feels like shock that he completely misses whatever it was Steve said to him.

“Buck, are you even listening to me?”

Bucky shakes his head and says, “Not at all,” before he pushes Steve’s face in the direction of the guy with the _adorable_  gap in his teeth.

“ _Oh_ …” Steve looks back at Bucky and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t wanna hear you complain about this project when you get home if you get to spend four hours with _him_.”

Bucky turns to Steve then. “If I embarrass myself in front of this guy I just need you to know I can never show my face on campus ever again.”

“S’anyone ever told you you’re a bit of a drama queen?”

Bucky snorts. “That’s rich coming from you. You practically stand on tip toe whenever Sharon is within a five mile radius.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Steve says as he slaps the paint brush against Bucky’s chest one last time, a bit more forcefully than necessary if you ask Bucky. “I’m going home. Call me if you need anything.” With that he shoves the paintbrush into Bucky’s hand and grabs his coat on the way out.

When Bucky turns back to the set, and the photographer, he finds himself being watched. If he wasn’t covered in paint he’d probably be red all over with some sort of embarrassing full body blush. Cute Photographer™ has a very intense gaze, scrutinizing Bucky’s paint job no doubt.

Whoever he was talking to quickly gets the point and moves on to finish working on something with one of the other volunteer models, and once they do Cheekbones™ walks toward Bucky.

Now, Bucky is no pinnacle of self-confidence. He has body issues ranging anywhere from his missing left arm, to the long curved scar on his upper left thigh from when he got his hip replaced. BUT, even if Bucky _were_ at his peak, he would be terrified in the face of this man’s gaze.

His sun kissed skin draws attention like no other, the slant of his cheekbones could easily put greek statues to shame, and his full lips look distressingly kissable even when they’re pursed in thought.

Bucky _might_  actually die today.

“Hey,” Cute Photographer™ says as he holds out a hand for Bucky to shake. “I appreciate you volunteering your time to help me out.”

Bucky falters for a moment, his only hand covered in paint. “Sorry, only have one to shake with.”

Cute Photographer™ smirks and grabs his hand anyway. “Not a problem.” His grip is firm, but friendly. Comforting almost.

“So, I’m not sure what you know about the project,” the man begins as he walks toward a set with a floor, two walls, and a bathtub. “Obviously it involves a healthy amount of body paint.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t really know much beyond that.”

“It’s not much more complicated than it sounds. This project is focused on blending aspects of photography and painting, but in the sense that the viewer is manipulated into believing what they’re looking at is a painting, not a photo. One of those, ‘look closer and you’ll _really_  see’ sort of things.”

“Huh.”

The photographer smiles again and Bucky’s skin feels like it’s on fire. “That’s what most people say.” He leads Bucky to a tall wooden chair and has him sit. “You’re gonna be working with me today. Shauna has all the people she needs.”

“I’m Sam, by the way,” Cute Photographer™ says as he turns toward a table lined with paints and various cups of liquids, some clear like water, others not so much.

Bucky watches with unrestrained curiosity and distractedly says, “Bucky. Nice to meet you.”

Sam comes back to Bucky’s side with a rolling table and a few cups of paint, as well as brushes of various size. “Alright, Bucky. Before we go any further I just want to make sure you’re okay with a few of the things that are going to be happening today.”

He nods. “Go ahead.”

“Because it’s _my_  final project, I’m the one that’s going to be painting you and maneuvering you. If you’re uncomfortable with another man seeing you naked, feel free to leave now. No hard feelings or anything.”

Bucky looks down with an amused huff. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been naked in the presence of another man, and it won’t be the last.”

When he looks back up Sam has an unreadable expression on his face. It’s quickly replaced with something neutral. “Then that’s settled. This may take a good portion of the day, so we _are_  going to provide lunch - if you have any dietary restrictions let myself or Shauna know. And if for any reason you get tired or decide you’ve had enough feel free to tap out, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky says. He narrows his eyes in search of some hint of disapproval on Sam’s part, but finds nothing

“Oh, one more thing,” Sam remembers.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna have to lose the boxers.”

~

This extra credit project is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened to Bucky.

On the pros side, Bucky has spent hours beneath Sam’s gentle and attentive touch. Each brush stroke has been agonizingly tender and seemingly drawn out. And Sam’s hands are broad and warm; Bucky is pretty sure he’s never had goosebumps last so long in all his life.

The cons side doesn’t look much different from the pros side, in all honesty. The only thing Bucky has to add is that the experience is over too soon. Even though he and Sam are the last two in the studio.

Bucky stands in front of a mirror with a rugged industrial sink beneath it. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since he first stood here and began washing the paint from his face and shoulders. (Somewhere along the line the other half of his upper body was painted).

It’s tiring work when you only have one hand. Sam seems to sense this; appears right when Bucky rests his hand on the edge of the sink to brace himself for a moment.

“Here,” Sam says, reaching past Bucky for the wash cloth. “Let me.”

Bucky turns around and rests his backside against the sink’s edge, tired enough to let himself be attended to. Sam moves in front of him, and Bucky has to part his legs slightly to accommodate him. It’s awkward for a moment, like Sam thinks he’s over stepped some boundary of personal space, and then it’s just silent instead.

Sam uses one hand to hold Bucky’s face still and uses the other to get the small patches of paint Bucky couldn’t quite get on his own. Every few seconds a rush of warm air falls from his lips, sometimes hitting Bucky’s cheek or his neck.

Predictably, Bucky shivers, and Sam pauses. They lock eyes for a tense moment, but Bucky looks away, suddenly anxious. Eventually Sam’s hands dip. One ends up on the side of Bucky’s neck, and the other gently scrubs paint away from Bucky’s clavicle.

Bucky’s resolve holds until Sam reaches his torso. Up to this point, he’s practically been holding his breath. Sam is too close for him to even think of breathing, blinking, or anything else. But when the cloth brushes over his nipples he can’t help but suck in a sharp breath.

This time Sam’s pause feels like it goes on for hours, and when their gazes meet again Bucky can’t seem to look away. This close he can see that Sam’s eyes aren’t as dark as he thought, but that a darker ring lines his pupils. This close, Bucky’s sure that Sam can feel the way his heart is beating out of his chest.

Sam deliberately maintains eye contact as he runs the wash cloth over Bucky’s nipples again, and when Bucky shudders slightly in response Sam drops the towel in the sink altogether and rests his hand against Bucky’s chest. Skin-to-skin.

“You think you can get the rest on your own, or do you need a little more help?” Sam asks, though the question he’s really asking is different from the words that left his mouth.

Bucky’s eyes dart back and forth between Sam’s before he says, “I think I might need your help.”

Sam nods slightly, and suddenly Bucky feels like he did when Sam first looked at him. Trapped in his orbit, but in the worst of ways.

The feeling only grows when their lips first meet.


	3. "I almost lost you"

Sam opens the door of his apartment only to find Bucky, dripping wet. He’s out of breath, like he ran all the way here, and his hair is molded to his face. “I almost lost you once. I can’t let it happen again.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks, confused (and slightly annoyed).

“Don’t go.”

Sam scowls. “After everything that hap-”

“I love you,” Bucky says in a rush.

Sam’s breath catches in his throat. “Wh- _excuse me_?”

“I. Love. You,” Bucky repeats. “I love you and I can’t just watch you leave.”

“You can’t just say shit like that to get me to stay,” Sam spits. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he says, “Don’t _lie_.”

Bucky catches the door with his metal hand before Sam can slam it in his face properly. He doesn’t force it open, but he does speak through the crack that’s left there. “When I saw you in the hospital that day I realized that I - I… Life is _short_. I know that. But being as old as I am, the rule didn’t really feel like it applied to me. And then I met you and I realized it does.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Sam sighs. “Please just let me close the door.”

“Fine.” Bucky moves his arm and the door rushes forward to fill his absence. Rather than leave though, Bucky speaks through the wood, stubborn. “Seeing you in that hospital bed did things to me. I felt things I wasn’t even sure I _could_ feel anymore. I looked at you and I realized that even if _my_  life isn’t short, yours could’ve been.”

There’s what feels like an excruciatingly long pause before Sam just barely catches Bucky say, “And I don’t want to know what it’s like in a world where you don’t exist.”

Tears well up in Sam’s eyes before he can stop them. He wants to be angry with Bucky, and part of him _is, b_ ut there’s a part of him that is so heartbreakingly head over heels for Bucky that all Sam can do is cry as he leans against the door.

“I wish I could hate you,” Sam says before wiping away the tears. “Sometimes I wish I never met you.”

“ _Sam_.”

He opens the door, startling Bucky, and says, “ _You_  were the one who said we were just fucking. _You_  said that. And now you’re standing here telling me you **love** me?”

“I wanted to keep you safe!” Bucky fires back, though he seems to have startled himself with the admission because he slinks backward into the hall and starts to pace. “I just - I wanted you to be safe. I thought that if I convinced myself I didn’t - that we weren’t -” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m a complete idiot and I hurt you.”

Sam stares at Bucky for a second, shocked into silence. It must be a minute before he says, “Say it again.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Bucky says, and it’s so emphatic that Sam can practically feel it.

But that’s not what he meant.

“Not that.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, creating a neat line across his forehead, but before he can ask anything, Sam says, “Say it again.”

Realization dawns on Bucky and he pushes the stray strands of hair from his face. “I love you.” Sam’s gaze wavers for a moment, but Bucky pulls his attention back as he continues. “I love you so much it hurts. I love the way you stick your cold feet on me in the mornings. Or how you used to sing in the shower when you thought Steve and I weren’t in the house. Sam, I…”

Bucky straightens himself out and takes a deep breath. “I love you so much I’m willing to let you go, but I don’t want you to. Stay. Please. I’ll do-”

“Please shut up,” Sam says, his eyes closed now.

“Wh-”

“Shh. Just - _shut up and kiss me_.”

“Oh,” Bucky breathes out, surprised.

“You’re an asshole.”

Bucky nods as he steps forward. “An asshole who is really sorry.” He cradles Sam’s face between both hands and leans forward.

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything you know.”

Bucky nods again. “I don’t care if I spend the rest of my life making up for it, Sam. I just want to kiss you.”

“Then do it. I already told you to shut up,” Sam mumbles as their lips brush together.

Bucky presses their mouths together, chaste at first. That lasts all of two seconds before he uses his tongue to part Sam’s lips. He pulls Sam close and uses his position to the shut the door, licking into Sam’s mouth with purpose as soon as it’s closed. “I really do love you,” he mumbles into Sam’s mouth as they stumble towards a bed.

“I love you too. _Dick_.”

 


	4. "Hey, have you seen the... Oh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, a couple of people on tumblr were mildly hurt by this one, so I apologize in advance. My b.

Sam neatly drops the [hex bar](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.powerplusfitness.com.au%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2014%2F09%2Ftrap-bar-olympic-120.jpg&t=MDIwOTNmNjRkMjk4MWVlNWYwZWZiZGFmOWQyMGE5NmUwMTcxMmNlYSxTMVVMZXZ2Wg%3D%3D) in his hands at the end of his squat and stands upright before wiping the sweat from his brow. In the mirrors lined across the top halves of the wall panels he and Bucky’s eyes meet. Sam nods in greeting before turning around to face Bucky. “What?”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on Sam’s bare torso for a moment before snapping up. He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. He’s silent for an uncomfortable period of time as his line of sight wavers once again only to fixate on a point in Sam’s side.

“My eyes are up here,” Sam says impatiently. He knows what Bucky is looking at.

“That scar, is it…?”

“It’s nothing,” Sam says. “That’s what it is.”

Bucky’s jaw tenses. He looks to the side and lets out a deep breath. “Just like you don’t have any scars on your back, or how you don’t have nightmares, or -”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sam says. “What did you come in here for, because I know it wasn’t to play twenty questions with me.”

“You know what I think is funny?” Bucky asks, ignoring Sam’s blatant glare.”You talk about Steve and I needing therapy, how we should talk about our problems, and then when it comes to you it’s like nothing is ever wrong.”

Sam rolls his eyes and turns back around. “Was there an actual question in there?” He widens his stance slightly and squats so that he can wrap his hands around the bar holds.

“ _Sam_.”

He ignores Bucky in favor of lifting the bar, but before he can pick it up a hand ghosts across the middle of his back, startling him. Sam whips around to face Bucky. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bucky catches his wrist and holds, keeping Sam from getting any further.. “I know what they are. All of them. I just want to hear you say it. I think _you_  need to say it.”

Sam inhales, quick and sharp. “And what makes you think that?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Yes, you _are_ ,” Bucky responds, voice just as harsh as Sam’s.

Sam feels like his head is spinning. Bucky still hasn’t let his arm go. They’re too close for this. whatever it is. Sam needs space. He needs - he needs… he doesn’t know.

He yanks his arm away and turns around. Their eyes meet in the mirror again, and this time Sam says, “The EXO-7 wasn’t the only model I flew. I tested some of the earlier ones - worked out the kinks.”

“They’re burns…” Bucky guesses. And he’s correct.

Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Anything to fly.”


	5. "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Sam’s eye dart upward from where they were fixated on the last glazed donut. The very donut in between his fingers. He locks eyes with Bucky, and for a moment it almost seems as if he feels remorseful. But then his eyes narrow and a grin slowly creeps across his face.

“Oh no. No, no,  _no_ ,” Bucky begins as he steps forward. “Don’t you even _think_  about it Wilson. I swear to g-”

Sam pushes away from the kitchen table without notice and darts past Bucky and into the hallway. He shoves half the donut into his mouth and _bites_.

“ _You mother…_ ” Bucky spins on his heels and sprints through the house. As soon as Sam is in his sights he lunges, but Sam turns a corner and Bucky slides into a wall shoulder first. “Stupid fucking rug,” he mutters.

When he catches up to Sam a second time he doesn’t miss. The two of them go tumbling to the floor and Bucky ends up on top. Victorious. “That box _clearly_  said Bucky on it. I know you can read.”

Sam struggles beneath Bucky’s weight, eventually giving up with a sigh. “Funny, I would’ve said the same thing about you, but you obviously _can’t_  because you ate my leftovers.”

“Seriously,” Bucky huffs. “ _That’s_ what you’re on about right now? It was two weeks ago! I said sorry!”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “But you didn’t _mean_  it.” Before Bucky can formulate a response, Sam grabs him in an over armed hug and flips Bucky over. Then he looks Bucky right in the eye and shoves the rest of the donut into his mouth.

Bucky takes a sharp breath inward when Sam begins to lick the icing from his fingers, his words scraping past his teeth angrily as he says, “I hate you.”

Sam pops his forefinger out of his mouth and gives Bucky a toothy smile. He leans in close and says, “Doesn’t feel like it,” and then he’s up and gone down another hallway.

Bucky is still laying in the middle of the floor, stupefied, when Natasha walks by. She takes one look at him, shakes her head with a sigh, and keeps walking.


	6. "So, I found this waterfall..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, to the point.

“What do you mean you ‘found this waterfall?’ We’re in the middle of _IKEA_.” Sam scrunches his eyebrows.

Bucky takes a deep breath and tries not to roll his eyes. He wets his lips and tries again. “If you’d let me _finish-“_

“Bucky, there was a thirty second pause.”

“Oh were you counting?” Bucky asks. He makes a face at Sam before walking away, knowing that Sam will follow. “ _Anyway_  - like I was saying. I found this outdoor section that has waterfall fountains -”

“Oh my god,” Sam groans. “We went over this in Lowe’s. We’re _not_  buying another fountain.”

Bucky pouts, and he gets the feeling that it actually has some effect on Sam. “But what about the koi pond! Tell me right now that nothing is missing.”

He’s right. Sam looks like he’s about to cave. If only because something _is_  missing by that damn pond. “Fine. But after this,  _no more fountains.”_


	7. "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say i left the best for last, but the first two "chapters" are my favorite.  
> 

“Y’know, this is your fault,’ Sam huffs as he crosses his arms.

Bucky punches the steel wall one more time to no avail, lets out a sigh, and sends out a distress signal using the communication line that’s magnetically attached to his left arm. His face illuminated by the comm and nothing else. The green light it gives off makes his expression all the more haunting when he turns to glare at Sam. Sam’s unperturbed though.

“ _My_  fault?” Bucky hisses. “How is it my fault if I came to rescue you? Maybe it’s your fault for getting caught.”

Sam turns to Bucky, and the only reason Bucky can see anything is because of his unnatural (read: super-serum enhanced) sight. Sam’s eyes are narrowed and accusatory. “If you had just listened to me when I said that splitting up would be ineffective -”

“ _Jesus_.” Bucky throws his hands up in the air and the green light bounces off the sides of the shipping container they got thrown into. “You _never_  agree with my plans, Sam. _Ever_.”

“Because they’re _dangerous_. Half of them are flimsy at best, and the other half are suicidal.”

Bucky purses his lips. “But they _work_.”

Sam groans. “Only because you’re lucky! What’s gonna happen the day you run straight into gunfire and someone actually manages to hit you? You’re not invincible.”

“Who gives a shit…” Bucky mutters.

“Me,” Sam shouts. “ _ **I** _ care.” 

Bucky’s mouth falls open slightly, but he regains himself by clearing his throat and looking away. He’s silent long enough that Sam picks the conversation back up. “I know you can make a better plan than the ones you’ve been throwing together lately. You’re smarter than that. But what do you do? You use yourself like a walking shield instead, and you worry about the damage to your body later.”

“I _heal_ ,” Bucky grits out.

Sam sighs, and this time it’s more tired than angry. “That’s beside the point. It still hurts when you get shot, Bucky. I know it does.”

Sam appears by Bucky’s side without warning, startling him slightly, and rests a hand on his shoulder. Bucky takes a minute to think about how much they’ve learned from each other on their missions together.

“You’re pretty important, y’know,” Sam says to fill the growing silence.

Bucky snorts. “To who, Hydra? Steve?”

“To me,” Sam says. “And yeah, Steve.”

Bucky looks at Sam then. “Sweet talking me isn’t gonna make this any less your fault.”

Sam punches Bucky’s right arm. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Was that a moment?” Bucky laughs and catches Sam’s hand before he can land another punch. “Okay, fine. I get it. I’m important.” He opens Sam’s hand and slots his against it. “You’re important too. So stop getting your ass in these situations.”

~

Steve opens the shipping container doors to the sight of Bucky pinned beneath Sam’s weight, face down. Sam’s legs are folded into a pretzel atop Bucky’s backside, like Bucky is the comfiest chair in the world.

“He almost get himself killed again?” Steve asks.

Sam looks down at Bucky, whose arms are crossed in defeat (no matter how uncomfortable the position must be), then he looks back up at Steve and says, “Yeah. By _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> You should totally come find me on tumblr (@zamnwilson) if you're interested in reading this Guardian Angel!Sam AU I have that's an ongoing series. It'll eventually find it's way here, but not until it's finished.


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